


afterglow

by mediwitch3



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Coda, F/M, Jason Rothenberg is a Coward, Love Confessions, Post-Episode: s06e10 Matryoshka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 19:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20441426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediwitch3/pseuds/mediwitch3
Summary: they have a lot to discuss after clarke survives josephine.





	afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> im @queenginnys on tumblr

“I could hear you,” Clarke’s voice is a whisper in the dark. Bellamy hadn’t known she was awake, startles slightly from where he’s sitting across from her where she lies on the cot. Gabriel and Octavia are asleep nearby, Bellamy should’ve been the only one awake.

“What do you mean?” He finally answers, looking over at her. She’s watching him, her eyes shiny in the low light of the one lamp still lit.

“In my head,” she says, “I could hear you telling me to fight.”

He swallows, his heartbeat kicking up. “I’m glad you did.”

She shifts a little, her blonde hair haloed out around her head. Her eyes are blue and bright. He still can’t believe she’s alive. 

“Thank you for fighting for me,” she tells him, “I didn’t think anyone would, after everything.”

“Clarke,” he sits up, looking her dead in the eye. It’s important to him that she knows this. “I will always fight for you.”

She looks a little like she might cry, her eyes leaving him for the first time during this conversation. He doesn’t like being so far from her, stands and kneels by her cot so he can put a hand on her flank. She grounds him, her lungs expanding and retracting under his hand, reminds him that this is real, she’s here.

“I left you,” her voice wobbles, “I left you to die.”

He makes a wounded noise, scoots forward so their faces are level. “We’ve all done things, Clarke.”

Her hand reaches out to grasp his borrowed sweater, makes a tight fist as she digs her face into her other elbow. 

“You could have died,” she says, muffled, “and it would have been my fault.”

He leans down, presses his forehead to her temple so he can whisper directly into her ear. “I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.”

She whines, pulling his sweater like she wants him closer. He takes a deep breath, lets his hand slip off her side so he can wrap it tight around her back. His knees are starting to ache on the ground, but he never wants to move from where he blankets her. He lets himself stroke the soft skin of the inside of her arm with his other hand, where her face is still buried.

He breathes with her for a moment, the tent still quiet and dark around them. She starts to relax again, slowly, her shoulders lowering where they were hunched up around her ears. She doesn’t let go of his sweater. Her face turns under his, and he lifts his head to look down at her.

“Will you stay with me?” She asks softly. He can’t help himself, he ducks down to press a kiss to her cheek, soft and warm under his mouth. She sighs.

“Always,” he whispers. She finally lets go of his sweater, scoots back on the cot to make room for him to climb in beside her. 

They lay side by side, facing each other like opposing parentheses. Her hand rests between them, sitting on the cot by Bellamy’s beating heart. He reaches out his own hand, tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. She scoots closer. He repeats the motion, again and again. Her breathing is deep and even, relaxed again, but her eyes are still watching him. The silence stretches around them, cocooning them in their own little world. 

“Bellamy,” she says. Her voice is still soft and quiet, and he doesn’t stop petting her hair. Can’t seem to keep his hands off her, needs her solid and breathing under his palms. 

“Yea?” He breathes. The hand resting between them creeps up to fiddle with the lapel of his sweater. She presses forward again, closes her eyes and leans her forehead against his. He can feel her breath on his face, his own freezing in his chest. Her proximity is intoxicating, and he wishes he were brave enough to get her even closer.

“I love you,” she whispers. His own eyes slip closed, his heart thudding hard behind his ribcage. Her nose drags along his, a tiny tiny motion that makes him tingle all the way down his body. He lets out a breath.

“I love you too,” he croaks, feeling like his chest might crack open. She’s still so close, warm and soft and alive, right there within reach. He can hear her breath stutter when he says it, can feel her hand fist tightly in the fabric of his sweater. Her knees bump his.

The first touch of her mouth to his is the softest thing he’s ever felt. He feels tense, wound tight, until her mouth presses tight. Then all the tension leaves his body at once, and he leans into her, presses his own mouth back against hers. Feels like he’s breathing for the first time ever. Her mouth moves over his, tiny and gentle, soft and sweet. He feels hot, wants more, can’t help lining his body up against hers. She’s all soft curves as his hand travels down from her hair. He touches her neck, her shoulder, her ribs. Counts them, counts her breaths. Her hip swells under his hand, and she twitches closer. He opens his mouth over hers, lets himself reach his other hand up to tangle in her hair as her tongue slips into his mouth, the best thing he’s ever felt.

It doesn’t go further than that, just ebbs and swells as they kiss for what feels like hours. He never wants to leave this cot, wants her here with him forever, can’t imagine a life without her. She pulls back eventually, her mouth slick and red and a little swollen, her blue eyes bright and heavy and a little cross-eyed trying to look at him this close. She presses another kiss to his mouth, like she can’t help it, and he sighs, tucks his face tight next to hers and wraps himself around her as close as he can.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he tells her. She makes a noise, confused.

“Do what?” She asks. He breathes in deep, smells her sweat and the faintest hint of whatever perfume Josephine had used hours prior.

“Die,” he says, “I won’t survive it.”

She clutches at him, her hands tiny and perfect like the rest of her.

“I’ll do my best,” she whispers. He takes another deep breath, keeps his face tucked into her neck. Falls asleep soundly for the first time in weeks.


End file.
